Before Time Altered Them

It was a good summer. Incredible, filled with light and chilled sun and the urgency of the four's last summer of school. One of the best summers, and certainly one of the last.

It was also an unusually cool summer, with only a few days of hazy stickiness in August. Those were the dog days, and Remus spent those with shut blinds, shaved ice, and Proust. He never got up from bed on those days, melting into a pool of unladylike sweat and grossness. The summer was when his grandparents stayed with them, and grandma couldn't bear any artificial cooling, instead trusting only the Merlin-given air.

They didn't have a warded house with a train of elves, like the Families (the Blacks, even the Potters) did, but it was a nice little place, with a yard that used to be big enough for Remus to divide into kingdoms, and proximity to the county town of Guildford that allowed them 'city-life' whenever they chose. It was, after all, the largest town in Surrey, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin liked to remind people as they dressed for Saturday shows and Sunday dinners.

He had made it to the last part of In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower, and was reading a particularly poignant (and long) sentence when Mrs. Lupin—his mother—entered without a knock.

"Remus sweetie," his mom appeared at the suddenly open doorway, "There's an owl for you."

All his letters went through his mother, but Remus didn't mind that so much. He never got too many letters in the summer, and they were all from James, Sirius or Peter in any case. This summer though, Sirius hadn't sent a single letter, and Remus had to make up an elaborate traveling plan for him so that mother didn't worry to death about his situation at school. James had sent a few, short ones, and they had been very enjoyable to read. The recent letters failed to mention Sirius though.

He also got no letters from Sirius this summer.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't a little disappointed. They had begun such a tentative relationship just at the end of the year, and he was still nervous with the thought. But everything looked different in the summer light, he supposed. Freer, with the 'right here right now' much more important. Perhaps Sirius was having a good time and forgot all about it? In any case, he hoped that it was not because of trouble at home, although he fretted nightly over it.

Remus was determined to not have it ruin his summer though. He was to have a grand summer, His family expected the same results from the N.E.W.T.s as his O.W.L.s a year ago (four O's and three A's! His mum had sent his nearly a parliament of owls with congratulatory and teary mail when he sent news of it). Which was why he never got out of bed, and had a shocking affair with Proust, who was only dead for fifty-some years.

"I have it right here," Mrs. Lupin said, wiping her hand on her apron and putting the letter down.

"You're the best, mum," Remus reached out a hand to grab it.

It turned out to be just a short note, barely two lines long.

Moony, it read:

I hope Joscelind finds you well. Dad and mum are going away and they let me invite you lot to keep me company.

James Charlus Potter

James always wrote the most confusing manner, all formal and yet one could imagine his voice, bristling with laughter.

"So you won't be coming to Guildford with us then," Mrs. Lupin decided for Remus.

Remus never accompanied them to Guildford, instead claiming a desire to guard over his grandparents. It always earned him a chuckle from grandpa and an extra slice of pie from grandma. What Mrs. Lupin meant, however, was clearly that he could go to James's.

He looked up at her hopefully, "Could I, mum?"

Mrs. Lupin clucked, "Of course, of course, they're your friends, Merlin knows how hard it is—"

She trailed off guiltily.

Remus was used to it.

—

He had Floo'ed into the hearth of a large dining room, larger than the entire first floor of his house. There was an elderly couple sitting at the table, both with black hair streaked gray. Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

Remus nodded. "Pleased to see you again, ma'am, sir. Thank you for having me here."

They smiled at him in a strained manner, tiredness obviously seeping through, and Remus wondered wildly if he had done something to offend them.

Mrs. Potter cleared her throat and again was about to speak when Mr. Potter interrupted her, in a loud but calm voice, "Remus is here, boys!"

Heavy, boyish footsteps sounded from upstairs, and the couple went back to smiling at Remus.

Something was the matter, he could tell. Remus had plenty of experience walking into a heavy conversation to be able to recognize the situation before him.

"Remus!"

The door was thrown open, and Remus's eyes widened in surprise because there stood Sirius Black in all his glory.

Summer tee, khaki shorts, barefoot. His hair was shorter and better-maintained. He was more tan, and by tan Remus meant half a hue darker than the whitest milk, with a blotch of sunburn on the bridge of his nose, where sweat glistened. His wand was tucked in his back pocket haphazardly but—Remus was sad to see—within quick reach. His face was thinner—much thinner—than he remembered, and there were uncomfortable bags underneath his eyes, bags that reminded Remus of himself after the full moon.

He liked him in Muggle clothing though, he decided.

"Sirius?" he whispered out.

He looked at Mr. and Mrs. Potter sheepishly (sheepishly!), "Sorry sir, didn't mean to yell. If I could take Remus to the balcony now—haven't seen him in a bit, you know."

Mr. Potter was fairly amused. "Yes, I know, catching up, right."

Mrs. Potter shook her head but was smiling, waving her hand dotingly, "Off you go then; we will call you down when the dinner is ready."

Sirius grinned, said a quick thank you, and then took Remus away by the hand as he tried to say thank you as well.

On the staircase, Sirius pinned him to the wall and snogged him for a good five minutes. When both of them were flustered and too hot for the summer day, hair mussed a bit too tellingly and out of breath, Sirius pulled back. He smiled at him and whispered, "Haven't done that for months."

"One month and three weeks, actually," Remus corrected him absentmindedly, eyes tracing the exhaustion under his eyes and the burst capillaries in his eyes.

He never looked happier, Remus thought.

"Did you get here alright?" Of course he had to ruin the moment. "How did you get your parents—did you sneak out?"

Sirius puckered his nose and lost some of that happiness. "Didn't. Got out in broad daylight, and slammed the door as well. Never going back."

"You're going to be in so much trouble—" then he understood. "Oh," he said, because there was nothing else to say. "Oh."

"Sorry I wasn't in touch, old batty mumsy you know, but I just ran away yesterday."

"It's okay," he lied, "I'm happy for you. I think," he added.

"Made James write to you—didn't know if your parents would like you associating with a disowned Black."

Sirius was leading him up the stairs now, the shadows back in his eyes, so Remus did the only thing he could think of, and pinned him to the wall for a change.

No matter how traumatized and moody a teenage boy could get, Remus thought happily and in fragments, a good bit of snogging always provided momentary distraction.

—

"Grinning like that makes you look like Nearly Headless Nick, mate," James said in an uncharacteristically sophisticated drawl.

Sirius didn't care, as they lied on the grass that was still warm from the sun that had set not very long ago. Mr. and Mrs. Potter had gone right after dinner, and the lot of them—that was, James, Peter, Peter's girl (she went to Beauxbatons and Peter was very proud of the fact that she was French), Sirius and Remus himself. The only poor sod without a person to lie together with was James, but he was being a good sport about it.

"Evans is coming tomorrow, just stick with it for a night, James old boy," Sirius said.

"Easy for you to say," James snorted, eyes flickering to their linked hands.

"You'll make up all of this tomorrow anyway," Peter announced, drawing his girlfriend for the summer closer. She was a little young to be out drinking whisky in some stranger's house, but who was Remus to judge.

Remus himself had too much alcohol in him to remember properly what Peter had said about the French girl. The night air was cooling now, and the breaths that Remus took gave him shivers as he panted out warm, whisky-flavored air.

Sirius had been to one to bring out the bottle of Scotch whisky—some type of alcohol that Remus didn't know before. He really wasn't a very good influence, Remus reflected as he took another swig out of the glass bottle.

Remus didn't need the extra swing though—everything glowed with starlight and Sirius's tobacco-thick breath tasted sweet compared to the burning liquor. He felt warm and comfortable against the rocks that dug into his lower back, and life was perfect with Sirius looking so impossibly elegant—just like that—and impeccably happy on the grass that stained his white shirt. Sirius balanced his joint between his fingers like an art piece, and the smoke he blew out unfurled into the night like eels slipping away. Remus wondered why the Blacks chose to name their children after stars, because Sirius's eyes held more light than the entire Summer Triangle and he really couldn't think of any start or light that could compare with Sirius's eyes.

Remus was against Sirius's chest and couldn't move. He wasn't sleepy, nor was he tired, but he could not find in him the will to move even when that fly landed on his cheek.

Sirius softly waved the fly away, the tips of Sirius's fingers rubbing against his cheek, making his heart tremble with his touch. Remus felt like he was going to float away with the slow zephyr that lingered around Sirius.

I'm so in love with him, he realized.

This was the kind of night that made fairy tales.

They had lulled into a soft silence, none of them talking as much as Remus thought they would, so when Peter's girl leaned in to bite on Peter's neck, Remus felt the courage of Scotland burn through his blood, and he too closed in on Sirius and kissed Sirius's jawline.

Surprisingly, James didn't make any snide comment about their touchy-feely relationship moment, but looked at them with such heroic eyes, bright and suddenly very, very mature for James.

"This is it, mates," James whispered into the cooling night air, the edge of it turning crisp with the spice of night, "This will be the last year of our benevolent rule over Hogwarts."

Sirius, who had pulled Remus and folded Remus into his embrace, lifted his face from his brown hair and barked out a laugh. "Why, Prongs, one might think you're going soft. Besides," he gulped down some running air, "It's only so that we can grow into Kings to rule over the capital 'W' World."

He had said it with so much unwavering conviction, that nobody mentioned the smell of war around the house, or the lingering fear of graduation and growing up. That night, they all believed in Sirius's prophecy.

—

For the rest of the summer, Remus's Proust was laid face down on his bedside table, its spine cracking slowly, in a way that book spines were not meant to be cracked. He had not realized the prophetic nature of the lines that he was reading just before he set out to meet with Sirius:

'Gone are the Kings, gone are their towering prows,

Vanished upon the raging deep, alas,

The long-haired warrior heroes of Hellas.'